when the war is over and warriors can rest
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Dean's always loved horses. Sam thinks it's time he got one.
1. I

**Title**: when leaves are moist and small and winds are gentle

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov

**Warnings**: takes place sometime during season two, I think

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 210

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: for moodswingers , to the prompt _something happy for Sam and Dean_

* * *

They're driving down a country road out at the ass-end of nowhere. One of the Dakotas, Sam thinks. He'd been asleep when they crossed the state line.

Dean's humming along with Zeppelin, of course, because he's a broken record. Sam blinks the sleep out of his eyes and yawns wide enough it hurts.

The car is stopped and Dean's looking out the window. Sam follows his gaze to a herd of horses cantering around the fenced-in pasture. There's only about five or six-they're all almost the same color, with the same markings, so Sam can't really tell them apart.

But Dean's enthralled with them. Always has been, and Sam's never understood it. Horses are pretty enough, he supposes, but he'd prefer a book to watching them any day. And actually getting on one? Not a chance. Too unpredictable and so frickin' _huge_. But Dean? He could ride for hours and never get tired of it.

They have nowhere to be; everything can wait for as long as Dean needs. It's been awhile since Sam saw him smile so happily, one that wasn't a con or forced for Sam's benefit.

Dean watches the horses, face wide open and innocent, content in the secondhand freedom to run, and Sam watches Dean.


	2. II

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters  
**Warnings**: future!fic  
**Pairings**: none stated  
**Rating**: PGish  
**Wordcount**: 210  
**Point** **of** **view**: third  
**Prompt**: Something brotherly and happy. Doing mundane activity but because the boys are doing it together it's better. Maybe conversation they have before falling asleep.

* * *

"Hey, Sam," Dean calls from the kitchen. "Dude, we have an _awesome_ stove."

Sam glances up from his book--a Nero Wolfe novel, thank you very much, he's _so_ glad to be reading for fun again--and raises an eyebrow. "An awesome stove?" he repeats. "Okay."

"We should totally make supper tonight instead of going out!" Dean says, stepping into the den. "That'd be cool, huh?"

Marking his spot with a finger, Sam meets his brother's eyes. "You wanna cook?" he asks. Far as he knows, Dean hasn't cooked at all since they've been on the road together. Not since they were kids, actually. Since Sam left.

But now they have an actual house, with an actual kitchen. They both have actual jobs that don't require digging up corpses or setting things on fire or fighting against the forces of Hell and Heaven to stop the apocalypse. They have actual groceries in their actual fridge, and if Dean wants to cook supper, then they will _cook supper_. And Sam will utterly annihilate anything that gets in their way.

"Yeah," Dean answers as Sam tunes back in. "I think it might be fun."

Sam grins up at him, setting his book to the side. "Okay," he agrees. "Let's cook supper."


	3. III

**Title**: birthday

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 250

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: smilla02 for her birthday, to her prompt _Happy Dean being all annoying - especially to Sam_

* * *

"Hey, do you think we can swing by that pie place?" Dean asks, craning his neck to watch the flag girls as they go by.

Sam suppresses his sigh; this day is for Dean. Not every day a man turns 35, after all. Especially after—well. It's for Dean.

"I told you," Sam says patiently. "This is _your_ day, Dean. We can anywhere and do anything you want."

Dean grins at him. "You don't even know which place I mean, do you?"

Shrugging, Sam tells him, "It doesn't matter. Anywhere is what I said, and anywhere is what I meant."

Being the most powerful being in existence has its perks.

Turning back to the parade, Dean laughs. Sam lets the sound wash over him—this is what he fought for. What he killed, bled, and died for. His brother, who never really turned away(no matter what the demons and angels did), who always stood beside him, ready to kill, bleed, or die.

Who did die, over and over, and then for real. Who told God to go fuck himself, all for Sam.

Yeah, Sam will do anything for Dean today, but that's not so different from every other day of the year. Every other day of eternity.

"Hey, look at that one!" Dean says, pointing at one of the horses. "Dude, I think that's a Percheron/Clydesdale mix!" He slips a little closer to the fencing barricade. "Sam, he's _huge_!"

Sam smiles and adds another thing to the list of Dean's presents.


	4. IV

**Title**: presents

**Disclaimer**: Dean'n'Sam aren't mine

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point ****of view**: third

**Dedication**: crazypandabear

* * *

Sam takes Dean to a special stable not too long after his birthday. It's hidden away in a pocket that only he can find and Dean has no idea that the road he's driving down exists only for him.

"So, how'd you hear about this place?" Dean asks.

Sam smiles. Dean thinks they're checking out some mustangs, might even buy a couple. It's not like they're hard-up for the cash or the space; they've moved on from the apartment to their own parcel of land. After everything, it's the least society can do for them, even if society doesn't know about it.

"The internet," he lies. He didn't find this; he made it.

The stable is huge, spreading out over what would be three city blocks. Dean parks and raises a brow, taking in the place. "Nice," he whistles.

Sam leads the way, Dean following slowly as he glances around. Every detail is perfect, just as Sam imagined, as he wove from pure will and power. Over a thousand stalls, though most are yet to be occupied. He will place new horses wherever Dean chooses to go, and right now he's picked the closest building.

A beautiful woman meets them at the entrance, welcomes them, and Dean leers, of course. But with no more than a cursory glance to her chest and rear, he moves past her to the first stall.

Sam looks past Dean, creating horses for each, one of every breed and color. Sam isn't particularly interested in horses, but if Dean wants a horse or dozen, well.

Sam can't wait till Dean sees the winged ones.


	5. V

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point of view**: third

**Wordcount**: 165

**Dedication**: LucyWiggin

* * *

Sam thinks of the horse as his masterpiece. Well over twenty hands tall, with a spiraling dark horn on its head, huge leathery wings, _and_ it breathes fire.

When Dean sets eyes on it, he freezes. "Wow," he breathes. "_Sam_."

Sam grins as Dean slowly steps closer. The horse sticks its head out of the stall, angling its horn away. "Gorgeous," Dean murmurs and the horse nickers. Dean stretches his arm, letting his fingers rest softly on the horse's neck.

"Sam," he says. "You made this place, didn't you."

"Yeah," Sam admits. "Happy birthday."

Dean slides back the lock and lets the horse out. It spreads its wings, nuzzling at Dean's shoulder, careful with the horn. "Sammy," Dean asks, "just how powerful are you?" He runs his hand along the horse's neck, down to its shoulder, and gently traces the base of its wing.

"Does it matter?" Sam asks in reply.

Dean stays quiet for a moment. "No," he finally says. "I guess it doesn't."


End file.
